


blood is life (and i shall have it all)

by dogtit



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/F, Old work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogtit/pseuds/dogtit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tea is bitter, strong and lukewarm as it goes down her throat. It does little (<i>nothing</i>) to quench the thirst eating her insides and drying her tongue to sandpaper. It does little (<i>nothing</i>) to stop the throbbing in her gums, the ache that settles in the space behind her left brow, the itching fever that crawls beneath her skin.</p><p>She drinks the tea anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blood is life (and i shall have it all)

**Author's Note:**

> title is a quote from dracula ! i believe. its been a while

 

 

The tea is bitter, strong and lukewarm as it goes down her throat. It does little ( _ nothing _ ) to quench the thirst eating her insides and drying her tongue to sandpaper. It does little ( _ nothing _ ) to stop the throbbing in her gums, the ache that settles in the space behind her left brow, the itching fever that crawls beneath her skin.

 

She drinks the tea anyway.

 

“Are you well?” Sakuya asks, and Remilia closes her eyes tight and lets the sounds wash over her. “Mistress?”

 

“Fine.” There is no waver or crack in her voice, and for that Remilia is grateful. She dares to open her eyes and slides them to the side, where Sakuya stands; forever attentive and loyal. The _stirring_ Remilia feels in that black space where a heart should beat is sickening. She holds out the beautiful porcelain cup and says, “More.”

 

Remilia is usually more articulate in her speech. But the thirst ( _ hunger _ ) is getting stronger and it makes her mind foggy and numb and sets free a few inhibitions.

 

Sakuya's fingers—warm and soft and  _ human— _ brush against her own as she takes the cup to refill it. Remilia draws her hand back and holds it against her chest, hyper aware of every move Sakuya makes. In the stillness of the night, where the moon hangs above them in a sickle shaped grin, the  _ swish-swash _ of Sakuya's skirts seem amplified; as if Remilia can hear each tiny thread moving against that warm skin.

 

Perhaps, in this state of reversion, she can. The pain in her gums grows and she is aware of her fangs sliding over her lips. She takes a sharp breath through her nose—and regrets it, because she can almost  _ smell _ the life pulsing beside her, housed in her maid; rich and flowing and hers for the taking

 

( _ just a little taste _ )

 

except it's not and Remilia realizes this when she can finally come to her senses. She purses her lips and hides the lengthy canines from Sakuya's view as the human places the cup back down in front of her.

 

“Can I get you anything else,” Sakuya asks, and for a moment she sounds too eager, too ready to please. And almost like an afterthought, Sakuya says in a voice too soft to be anything _but_ a plea, “Mistress?”

 

Remilia entertains the thought of saying, “Yes, put those knives of yours to work and give me a vein--” but then she finds herself unable to finish the thought and just shakes her head and takes a sip of the tea. The temperature is scalding and it feels like acid being poured down her throat.

 

She doesn't care. She'll drown in tea before she sates the itch bred into her bones—because the itch should have already been scratched. She's already had her fill of blood for the month, thank you.

 

(And maybe it was made bitter with fear; and maybe it was thick with the sake the human had just drank; and maybe it was wholly  _ unsatisfying _ but she doesn't drink for enjoyment, she drinks to  _ survive _ .)

 

But though Remilia pushes away the thoughts and holds the burning water over her tongue until the pain is a red hot flare behind her lids, her mind wanders. She can pull Sakuya's wrist to her mouth—humans are silly, weak little things—and she can sink her fangs in and  _ pull _ until that life is dribbling down her chin to join the other countless stains on her dress.

 

She's sure Sakuya won't mind—because Sakuya is no stranger to the Devil's tastes; has witnessed and, to some extent, participated in the hunt. Enjoys it, even, because the dark nature that slumbers in the very corners of the human heart can run wild and free in the corridors of the Scarlet Devil Mansion.

 

Then she thinks; why the wrist? If she were to bite Sakuya, it wouldn't be at the wrist. She'd draw the human close, make her  _ kneel _ , and then push her hair to the side and reveal that lovely neck. Would her pulse be racing, Remilia wonders, and if so, from what?

 

Surprise?

 

_ Fear _ ?

 

She brushes the thought aside and finally swallows the tea, once again lukewarm, and sips again to wet her mouth. A warmth—familiar and strange—starts to fill her body and her wings tremble against her will.

 

But what is she thinking? Would she really bite Sakuya for the sake of  _ biting _ ? That step, that mindless self-indulgence, is what leads her kind to ruin. A sip here, for fun; and then an entire human village wiped out in one night, and the hunters come in the day to drive the stake in.

 

And besides; Sakuya is not prey. She's simply...Sakuya. Remilia has not seen her as anything different before.

 

_But why now?_

 

“Mistress?”

 

At once, she feels a rage towards Sakuya. “Get away from me,” she orders; and as an extra sting, she spits out, “ _ human _ .” like the greatest of insults.

 

In a way it is.

 

There is a pause, in which Remilia almost wants to take back the words and say something else, but doesn't; and in the pause she thinks she sees a flicker of pain flit across the endless blue of Sakuya's eyes. But the maid dips her head, bows, and when the vampire blinks, she's gone.

  
  


* * *

 

  
The month that follows is spent in silence, until Remilia can no longer stand it.

  
She doesn't quite apologize (because she has to maintain some pride, after all) but Sakuya has been at her side long enough to read the messages that even Remilia cannot understand. She smiles, she bows and Remilia has been forgiven.

  
So here they are; Remilia using tea to try to scratch that itch ( _ just a nip, just a sip _ ) but of course, it does nothing. Sakuya is peeling an apple, skillfully working the red skin off the tender meat. Remilia tries not to stare at the way the juices spill over her fingers and glitter off the metal blade.

  
When the work is finished, Sakuya shoos the peelings to the side, places the apple on a plate; slices it into perfect little crescents. She adds a pinch of cinnamon and hands the plate to Remilia with a smile.

  
“I hope you like it,” she says in a warm voice, head tilted to a bit of an angle to reveal just a flash of her throat; Remilia stuffs a slice into her mouth to keep from lunging, biting harshly into the fruit. It bursts between her teeth and becomes pulp and the sugar crystals suffer the same fate. Beneath the tang of the juice, the taste of Sakuya's skin lingers and Remilia finds that it helps.

 

Slightly.

 

Or not at all.

 

She eats another slice and tries to taste only apples and cinnamon and not the phantom beat of a pulse. She fails in that endeavor and almost ( _ almost _ ) moans in frustration. The hunger gnaws at her belly and claws up through her chest to  _ scritch-scratch _ at her throat.

 

She hasn't fed. The moment she tries, she finds herself repulsed and unable to do the deed. All blood tastes the same; it clots the same, it stains the same. But she can't bring herself to drink, and that small slip up ( _ weakness _ ) might bring her world crashing down around her head.

 

The slices of apples have started to curl and brown at the tips, Remilia notes, and balls the table cloth in her hands. The hunger has moved from her throat to that space behind her brow; inside her head. She has half a mind to dismiss Sakuya, but that half is silenced by a sharp, shocked hiss of pain.

 

By the smell of blood.

 

“How clumsy of me,” Sakuya scolds herself as the knife clatters to the table, holding her right hand in her left.

 

In a daze, Remilia looks around and up. Her throat seizes and her fangs almost succeed in piercing her own tongue. Somehow Sakuya's finger caught on the tip of the knife. And because Sakuya is  _ such  _ a good maid, the knives are as sharp as the prickly thorns of a rose.

 

The blood beads at the tip of her index finger, quivers beneath Remilia's gaze, and finally slides down to pool in Sakuya's palm.

 

“I'm terribly sorry, Mistress,” Sakuya says without a hint of apology in her voice. She withdraws a handkerchief from her apron pocket, and moves to press the white cotton against the wound.

 

Oh no, no, no, the hunger whispers as it snatches control of Remilia's limbs. In turn, Remilia catches the right wrist and yanks it to her mouth. Her tongue darts out to press against the wound itself; through her own, half muted groan of relief she can hear Sakuya gasp.

 

All blood may taste the same in humans, but Sakuya isn't human (not to Remilia, at least) so her blood is  _ exotic _ . It's rich with good health, bubbling with strength like a fine champagne. Remilia swipes off the blood on the index finger, and the tang of apples mix in. Her mind is in a state near ecstasy as she bends her head and drags her tongue along the path of the first drop of blood.

 

She doesn't stop there. She can't. She squeezes the finger to coax more blood to rise; laps at the sticky residue of apple on the other fingers. And then she takes the wounded digit into her mouth, eyes shut tight because  _ she could live like this forever _ , and begins to suck.

 

The rush of heat blazes over her skin and settles somewhere low and secret in her belly. Startled, she grabs Sakuya's arm with her other hand and shudders; Sakuya croons something that Remilia can't understand.

 

The blood stops and Remilia wants to sob in frustration because she's been  _ waiting _ for this and now she only has a few drops? 

 

( _ just a nip and you can have all you want _ )

 

She remembers, suddenly, exactly who she is and where she is. She opens her mouth and pulls away, and looks up through her lashes. Sakuya looks back down at her through eyes half lidded, glassy and smoky with something Remilia won't name.

 

Something she refuses to name.

 

And perhaps there is something in her expression, something that shows her horror ( _god, what has she done_?) because Sakuya raises her brows and her lips part in realization.

 

The human kneels and Remilia can feel her heart (if she ever had one) thrum hard against her chest. On her knees, Sakuya is forced to look up and--

 

\--and Remilia wants to scream, suddenly, at the love she can see. The moon climbs higher in the sky as they sit in silence; a lady and her loyal dog. The taste of Sakuya's blood is fresh on her tongue. So Remilia makes no move to stop her ( _what are you doing, this is Sakuya_ ) when the maid reaches up and pulls the tail of her green ribbon.

 

When it flutters to her lap, Remilia feels the hunger sinking its talons deep into her. Something rumbles up and out of her—a growl—and Remilia's eyes narrow.

 

“I knew it,” Sakuya murmurs, her voice low. “You haven't fed.”

 

She undoes the first two buttons of her white shirt. Parts it enough to show off her throat.

 

“Sakuya,” Remilia manages.

 

The woman smiles and offers a hand. Remilia takes it, sighing pleasantly at the warmth from her smooth skin. Sakuya pulls gently, and Remilia tumbles into her lap. Her lips are pressed against the bared skin, and Sakuya's fingers are smoothing down her back, scratching gently in the space between her wings.

 

Remilia closes her eyes and resists the urge to purr.

 

“Please,” Sakuya murmurs into her ear, cupping the nape of her neck. “Mistress, please.”

 

With a low groan, Remilia laps at a spot; numbing the skin to prepare it for her bite. In the deeper part of the fog that's settled over her brain, something dark crows in approval. Sakuya will bear _her_ mark. The wound would heal, but there would be always be the memory.

 

Sakuya would know it.

 

Remilia would know it.

 

She passes her tongue over Sakuya's skin one final time; then she strikes.

 

Sakuya's blood fills her mouth and the taste explodes on her tongue. She growls softly, working her fangs deeper. She's overeager, practically starving, so she's not as neat as she'd like to be. Blood escapes, smears over her lips and cheeks. Fire races through her body and for once, she's filled with warmth; with _life_.

 

Sakuya makes a sound, a sharp gasp that fades into a whispered word of encouragement. The hand on her neck tightens to hold her there, the hand on her back grasping at her shoulder.

 

Finally, when the hunger ebbs, Remilia savors the last few swallows. She releases Sakuya's skin, shivering at the breathy moan that is barely stifled.

 

It's a mess. The bite is small and not very deep, but blood weeps from the wound all the same and stains the white of Sakuya's shirt red. The front of her dress is stained, but that's nothing new.

 

Sakuya's hand slowly comes up to cup her cheek, a thumb gently caressing her. Remilia tilts her head into the touch, almost sedated from the meal. Sakuya's face is frighteningly close.

 

For a moment, Remilia wants very much to kiss her. And what Remilia wants, she gets.

 

She tilts her head and ghosts her red-smeared mouth against her maid's, chaste as she can. Sakuya returns it, petting her face still, and they don't kiss so much as hold each other back. Sakuya's blood makes her skin sticky and strange, and Remilia doesn't let herself think of it. She pulls back; Sakuya gathers her closer, petting the back of her head and whispering soothing words over and over.

 

They sit there, together, and breathe.

 


End file.
